


Butter Wouldn't Melt

by SageSloth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Bad Crowley, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergent, Crowley Whump, Fighting, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Love a bit of whump me, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Violence, good omens - Freeform, whumpy whump whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 22:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19282303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageSloth/pseuds/SageSloth
Summary: When an old friend of Crowley's sets his sights on hunting down and killing the angel known as Aziraphale, Crowley must fight to protect him. But Crowley's not a fighter and there's a reason for that. Once the blood starts to spill he can't get enough. And who can stop a monster?





	1. Chapter 1

There was an old saying that had always frustrated Aziraphale. Butter wouldn’t melt. It frustrated him so because over the years it had been misunderstood and turned into something else. The original phase, butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth, was meant to describe someone so cold and mean that they couldn’t even melt butter. However, somehow, this phase had been misconstrued to mean that someone was sweet or unassuming, the complete opposite of its intended use. It didn’t matter how many times the angel corrected its misuse when he heard it, for the universe was large and for the most part quite stupid. And you can’t fight stupid.

Aziraphale pondered over his frustration late one night in his book shop. He fingered through the oldest copy of Necronomicon that he owned, not really reading the words as his eyes glided over the pages until there was a knock at the door.

‘We’re closed,’ he called out before taking a sip of lukewarm cocoa.

A note slid out from under the door and came to rest on the floor. Aziraphale stared at it, perplexed, before standing from his desk and moving to retrieve the note. He raised the blinds on the door to find no one standing there and lowered them again before reading the note.

_They know._

_Meet me at these coordinates._

_C_

_They know_. Aziraphale assumed he meant their respective superiors and this sent a spear of terror through him.

Aziraphale studied the coordinates and identified the location mentioned. The note could only have come from Crowley, but the handwriting didn’t look familiar. Aziraphale put it down to Crowley having one of his identity crises and trying to invent a new signature and pocketed the note before heading out of the shop and locking the door behind him.

The coordinates led to an abandoned office building that was clean and in working order but devoid of all furniture. Aziraphale miracled the lift to take him up to the top floor, feeling like that was more Crowley’s style, and stepped out into a large open room with dull purple carpets. The windows covered the entirety of the left and right walls, providing a beautiful view of London’s nightlife and Aziraphale stood to admire it a moment while he waited for his companion to arrive.

After 13 minutes Aziraphale started to feel peculiar. Crowley could be tardy, yes, but the whole situation wasn’t sitting right with him. Why didn’t he just call? He has a phone in his car, why did he go to the trouble of knocking on the door of the book shop and writing him a note? Crowley never went to any trouble, for anything. Were things that bad? Was his phone bugged? Stolen? Destroyed? Why didn’t he knock again after Aziraphale told him it was closed, not knowing that it was his friend at the door? Why didn’t he say anything?

No, he decided, this wasn’t right.

He spun on his heel, intent on leaving this instant and heading back home to safety, and met with a demonic face. To Aziraphale’s dismay, this was not  _his_  demon standing before him. It was another, with a cruel expression and jet black eyes.

The angel gasped in surprise and stood back, pressing his back to the window and feeling the height of the building below him.

‘Hello, angel,’ the demon had a thick cockney accent and shallow green scales peering out from beneath his brown skin and as he grabbed Aziraphale by the throat he started to smile.

The demon’s teeth were sharp and he gave of the distinct look of a crocodile. Or was it an alligator? Whichever one was the ugliest, that’s what he looked like.

Aziraphale felt his heart beat faster, trying to pry the demon’s hand from his neck, ‘Who are you?’ he managed to ask.

‘A hunter,’ the demon replied and then threw Aziraphale to the ground, ‘an angel hunter. Your boyfriend and I go way back.’

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale asked, ‘You two are…friends?’

The demon nodded, ‘I never thought he’d betray his own kind like this but at least he led me to my next trophy.’ He crouched down beside Aziraphale and licked his sharp teeth, ‘I think I’ll hang you on my wall.’

‘Manon!’ a stern voice echoed through the room and Aziraphale looked up in hope.

‘Crowley!’ he scrambled to his feet and ran to his friend, ‘Crowley, thank heavens. What’s going on?’

‘Get behind me,’ Crowley murmured, ushering Aziraphale out of Manon’s sight. Aziraphale dutifully moved behind him and peered out over his shoulder.

‘How did I know you’d come sniffin around?’ Manon shook his head and stood up.

‘We’ve been through this,’ Crowley growled, ‘You don’t touch the angel.’

‘You know what?’ Manon said, ‘I’m not sure I recall  _going through this_. I’m pretty sure we’re both demons and he’s an angel and nature dictates that we should fuckin hate the lot of em!’ he started to shout and Aziraphale felt the muscles in Crowley’s back tense. He hadn’t realised he was standing so close.

‘You don’t want to do this.’ Crowley said, ‘we can both walk away.’

‘Do what?’ Aziraphale asked, ‘what is he going to do?’

‘Come on,’ Manon extended his arms out and stepped closer, ‘What’s a little dogfight between friends?’

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale gasped, ‘You can’t.’

‘Shut it.’ Crowley warned the angel, ‘You don’t want this, Manon. Just walk away.’

Manon clicked his fingers and Aziraphale found himself suddenly sitting on a chair with chains wrapped around his chest, ‘What the—’ he struggled against his restraints, ‘Crowley, do something.’

‘Oh, fuck it.’ Crowley muttered and then pulled off his glasses, dropping them on Aziraphale’s lap, ‘Alright,’ he said, pulling off his jacket, ‘Let’s go.’

A dogfight, as Aziraphale understood it, was a term used by the more _switched-on_ demons to describe the kind of fights that only demons can have. They were brutal and often resulted in one of the demon’s death, if not their total destruction. Aziraphale had never seen one before, having spent most of his time hanging around with Crowley who was usually above that sort of thing. He did, however, know that Crowley used to hang around with a crowd who very much enjoyed the more violent pastimes. Still, that didn’t mean he was happy to be a spectator to Crowley taking part in a dogfight with anyone, even an old friend and especially not over him.

‘Crowley, you don’t have to do this,’ Aziraphale said.

Crowley turned to look at him, ‘Do you know what he’ll do to you if I don’t? He’s a hunter, angel. He’s not like me, he doesn’t want to have a healthy debate or a battle of the minds. He wants blood, particularly yours.’

‘You’ve known this was coming for a while, haven’t you?’ Aziraphale said, ‘You said you had been over this before, what does that mean?’

Crowley sighed, ‘it means that Manon and I used to be friends until he developed a taste for angel blood. Given our… _arrangement_ , I figured it would be safer to cut ties with him in case he ever set his sights on you. Unfortunately, he already had and I’ve been working to throw him off our trail ever since.’

‘You discarded your friends…to protect _me?’_

Crowley shrugged, ‘Well, you put it that way and it—’

‘Do you two ever shut up?’ Manon growled, ‘I’ll shut you both up right now—’

Manon charged at Crowley and the dogfight began.

Manon tackled Crowley to the ground and had him pinned right away. Crowley hadn’t fought properly in centuries, but upon the point of first contact he felt it all come flooding back. His blood rushed hot through his veins, his lips curling up to bare his teeth as Manon pushed his knuckles into his chest. Crowley wrapped an arm around Manon’s neck and brought him down so he could sink his teeth into his shoulder. Manon growled in pain and rolled off of him so Crowley could scramble to his feet. He spared a glance at Aziraphale who looked at the blood dripping down from his fangs with wide unblinking eyes.

When Manon regained his footing again he was favouring his bitten shoulder, ‘I forgot you were a biter,  _Crawly_ ,’ he laughed and Crowley felt his anger rise in his chest, ‘Well I’ve got fangs too.’

Manon threw a punch that found its home in Crowley’s face but did not slow him down for long. The serpent threw his own set of blows which all landed true and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a jolt of triumph. There was also a wave of nausea however as blood from either demon started to splatter into the air.

Human fights didn’t last long in reality. On the television shows and films, they were dramatic, lengthy and perfectly choreographed but in truth, they consisted usually of at least 2 well-aimed blows to the head before the loser was either too dazed to carry on fighting or knocked unconscious. If weapons were involved then they were even shorter, but either way, as painful as they were to witness, they were mercifully short-lived.

A dogfight between two demons was different. Their bodies were hardier, their intentions more vicious. They scratched, bit, punched and threw one another until one was dead in most cases and sometimes didn’t even stop there. Normal demons can be driven wild by their part in a fight, developing a blood lust and a taste for violence, but a particularly vicious demon can be driven to the point of massacre and have to be stopped by their superiors out of risk of breaking Universal Law. Manon looked like the kind of demon who wouldn’t stop here. If he killed Crowley he would then kill Aziraphale and after that would find more and more people to kill until he was stopped.

The demons growled and hissed at one another as they tore and bit chunks out of one another. As they broke apart again Manon lunged, picking Crowley up by the waist and slamming him into the ground beneath. It was as if thunder had clapped across the sky and Aziraphale couldn’t stop the fearful yelp from escaping his lips.

Crowley took a moment to regain his breath as blood jumped up his throat and Manon used this time to beat him mercilessly. Once Crowley recovered his sense he grabbed Manon’s wrist in mid-air and flipped him over, throwing him aside and snapping his forearm.

No amount of broken bones would stop the hunter though. Sensing that Crowley wasn’t as soft as he’d first thought, Manon reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and swiped the air with his blade as Crowley came close.

Crowley jumped back in surprise, ‘What kind of demon brings silver to a dogfight?’ he panted, wiping the blood from his cheek on the back of his hand.

One that wants to win, Aziraphale thought as the fight commenced once more, this time at a further distance. Crowley deftly blocked and dodged the blade as it sliced through the air and kept about a foot of space between them at all times.

Aziraphale couldn’t take the anticipation much longer. His nerves were shattered, waiting for that fatal blow to strike and his world to end. He scolded himself for having such little faith in Crowley, but he realised that it wasn’t a lack of faith that was driving his panic. It was fear. Fear that Crowley would lose. Fear that Crowley would die. He wasn’t really that scared of dying himself, but if Crowley was killed he knew that his world as he knew it was over. What would he do without his lifelong companion? What did he do before they met? He could hardly recall those dull days before the serpent slithered into his life and he couldn’t bear the possibility of their resurgence.

Manon had Crowley pinned again, facing away from Aziraphale so he couldn’t see clearly what was going on. Manon was on top and the two were struggling, presumably with Manon’s blade. It was demonic silver, the angel knew, meaning it would not just injure Crowley’s body but his entire being. It could kill him for certain.

The two demons continued to snarl and bark at one another like real dogs until Manon let out a shriek and pulled away with Crowley’s jaws still clamped around his side.

The soft flesh below Manon’s ribs tore easily apart in Crowley’s teeth and he spat the chunk of tissue aside and followed his opponent to his feet.

They were reaching the endgame now, Crowley could feel it. He was growing tired, his flesh slick with blood and his stomach screaming with pain. He placed a hand to his wound and then took it off again, feeling Aziraphale’s worried gaze upon him.

Manon flicked the knife about in his hand before striking again. Crowley blocked him, stopping his forearm mid-strike and pulling the blade out of his hands.

The rest, in Aziraphale’s eyes, moved in slow motion and in the years to come he could recall it blow-for-blow. Crowley had the blade now and Manon, seeing this, started to move backwards, but Crowley brought his hand down fast and drove the blade into Manon’s chest. Smoke burst out from the wound and Manon screamed at the heavens, his hands closing around Crowley’s to try and pry them off even though the damage was already done.

Manon started to die, but Crowley wasn’t finished yet. He pulled the knife from his chest before sinking his teeth into his throat and ripping out his windpipe. He went in again and tore out the top of his spine, spitting it onto the ground and letting Manon’s broken body fall to the ground. Blood bubbled from the dying demon’s mouth before he went cold and still and the chains disappeared from Aziraphale’s chest.

The angel stood quickly, glad to be freed and then hesitantly approached Crowley, ‘You did it,’ he said quietly, reluctant to celebrate violence.

Crowley didn’t move. He stood over Manon with his back to Aziraphale, shoulders rising and falling with his deep and erratic breathing. He was exhausted, but he was also exhilarated.

‘Are you alright?’ Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and immediately regretted it.

The demon whirled on him, grabbing his wrist in a vice grip and putting the demonic blade to the angel’s throat. Aziraphale didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Crowley’s pupils were fully dilated, wide and pulsating as he growled into Aziraphale’s face.

 


	2. Chapter 2

‘I-it’s alright,’ Aziraphale said softly, his voice trembling, ‘I forgive you.’

Remorse invaded Crowley’s features and he pulled back, lifting his hands slowly from the angel’s body and dropping the blade to the floor. As it thumped against the carpet he stumbled backwards, ‘Stay away from me,’ he warned, his breathing quick and shallow. His insides churned, his muscles tensing so hard they felt as though they might snap.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale reached for him but Crowley jerked away.

‘Don’t touch me!’ Crowley snapped, his teeth stained with blood.

Aziraphale stayed where he was, watching his friend turn away and then fall to the ground. Crowley clutched at his stomach, his hands coming back wet with blood.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered.

‘Are you hurt?’ Aziraphale moved to face Crowley, careful to keep his distance as warned.

Crowley held out a hand towards him, ‘Don’t come any closer!’ he growled, but the angel’s eyes had seen the blood.

‘Oh, heavens…’ He breathed, ‘Demonic silver.’

Crowley returned his hand to his wound and closed his eyes, ‘It’s fine.’

‘It most certainly is not fine!’ Aziraphale protested, ‘What’s going on, Crowley? Why won’t you let me help you?’

‘Because if you touch me I’ll kill you.’

It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. His hands closed into fists, his fingernails poised to scratch and claw. Manon’s blood was stuck to his teeth and remained on his tongue and the part of Crowley that had always been dormant - barely even there – for most of his life had awoken. Bloodlust wrapped itself around his throat, pulling – _aching_ \- to kill again.

‘You won’t.’ Aziraphale said with unflinching conviction, ‘I know you. You wouldn’t hurt me.’

‘Go home, angel.’ Crowley grunted, ‘I can’t be around you right now.’

‘I’m not going to leave you like this.’

‘Oh for Hell’s sake!’ Crowley said, starting to painstakingly rise to his feet again, ‘Aren’t you listening to me? If you don’t stay away from me I’m _going_ to kill you. What part of that is difficult to comprehend?’

‘All of it.’ Aziraphale said, ‘You’re not like them, Crowley. You’re not a…’

‘What? A _monster_?’ Crowley growled in his throat and felt the urge to kill rise up again. He swallowed hard as if bile was rising, ‘Please, Aziraphale. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Fine. I won’t come near you. But you have to come back to the shop and let me take a look at your wound. That’s not a normal human wound, you can’t just miracle it gone. We have to take the proper precautions and—’

‘Alright.’ Crowley said, ‘We’ll go to the book shop. Just…walk in front of me and don’t slow down.’

Aziraphale led the way back to his shop, turning frequently to check on the limping and stumbling Crowley a few feet behind.

The open air was torture. Crowley could smell blood. Fresh blood pumping around juicy veins. _Stop!_ He retched in his throat and braced himself against a phone box for a moment.

The angel stopped to wait, watching carefully in case his assistance was needed, but Crowley waved him off and he averted his eyes.

They reached the book shop almost an hour later, but Aziraphale never complained. He would have waited hours if that’s what Crowley needed. The whole reason Crowley had gotten injured was because he was fighting to protect him. He had sacrificed his own safety for him. Risked his own life for his. That wasn’t something a person was likely to forget or disregard.

The top floor of the book shop had been converted into a flat years ago, although Aziraphale never used it. He didn’t need to sleep and didn’t get as much enjoyment from it as Crowley did, but it was nice to know that the option was there and as Aziraphale led Crowley up to the quaint little bedroom he was grateful that everything was already there for them to use. The bed was soft with an oak frame and floral bed sheets and there was a little bedside table where Aziraphale miracled a glass of water.

The angel stood by the door as Crowley stumbled into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t want to move without Crowley’s say so, trying to make sure the demon felt safe and in control at all times. He had read about Bloodlust, understood it to an extent, but had never imagined that it would be so strong as to take over a demon such as Crowley.

Crowley shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the wound that pumped blood out onto his flesh and clothes. Aziraphale felt his stomach churn, but his nursing instincts took over. In a cupboard under the stairs he kept a little box full of first-aid supplies which he retrieved and brought to Crowley’s bedside.

The demon shuddered as Aziraphale came close. He imagined what it would feel like to sink his teeth into the angel’s flesh. To rip out his heart with his bare hand—

Crowley doubled over and groaned in pain, fighting with his entire being. Aziraphale knew that he was trying desperately not to kill him and wasn’t sure whether to feel terrified or protected. A bit of both, he supposed.

‘I need to get a good look at that wound.’ He said.

Crowley took in a deep breath and slowly moved to lie down on the bed, ‘be quick about it.’ He said.

Aziraphale leapt into action, pulling Crowley’s shirt away from the wound and cleaning away the thick, clotted blood. He pressed a clean white sheet of gauze against the injury and Crowley sucked in air through his teeth.

‘I’m sorry,’ Aziraphale said.

‘Shut up,’ Crowley said softly, his energy ebbing away.

Aziraphale taped the gauze to Crowley’s skin, careful not to graze him with his bare hands and stood back once the job was done.

Crowley felt like his blood was boiling beneath his flesh. Every inch of him was on fire, desperate to lunge forth and mutilate. He pressed his head hard against the pillow and shut his eyes.

‘I’ll leave you now,’ Aziraphale said, ‘unless you need something else.’

‘No,’ Crowley groaned, ‘Just go.’

Aziraphale darted quickly from the room and shut the door behind him.

In the silence that followed Aziraphale’s departure Crowley heard the roar of his own pulse. Blood charged around his body so fast he was exhausted by the effort and felt his heart may burst out of his chest. He was cold, but sweating. Exhausted yet painfully restless. He sat up and brushed his hair away from his slick forehead, resting his face in his hands.

Back in the 90s he had drank 81 cups of coffee in the space of 6 hours. He had missed out on the Guinness World Record because Aziraphale called him and told him that the book shop had been robbed and one of his favourites stolen. Crowley immediately abandoned his endeavour in order to track down the thieves and restore what was stolen, but what he remembered most about the achievement was how awful it felt. It was as though his bones were made out of bees. He couldn’t stay still, couldn’t breath steadily and his pulse raced in his ears until he got a migraine. That feeling was nothing compared to how he felt now.

Another feeling he could compare it to was when he tried out Methadone back when that was popular. Aziraphale never found out about Crowley’s experiences with illegal substances, but it had all been in spirit of the whole demon experience. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed it and the withdrawal wasn’t worth the high so he stopped pretty soon after he’d started, but he couldn’t forget those few days he spent lying on the floor in a pile of his own sweat convinced that his arm was trying to kill him.

Crowley tossed the bed sheets onto the floor and opened his eyes. The light was too bright. The silence too loud. The air was too crisp. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t see. He needed to kill.

 

* * *

 

** One Hour Later **

Aziraphale couldn’t focus on organising the bookcases as he had intended to. He couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley; what he was going through, how he was feeling and how to help him. He fished out an old book about demons. It was politically charged and contained some very volatile language about what the author, an angel, felt about demons and their culture, but it contained a lot of very valuable knowledge too and that was why he had kept it.

He flicked through to find the section on Dogfights and Bloodlust;

 

* * *

 

_Demons, like the animals they are, find pleasure in violence. It’s something that occurs naturally to them rather than being learned, but some do get more out of it than others. Most dogfights take place between two particularly violent and aggressive demons in order to establish hierarchy or possession over something that they value. Contrary to popular belief, they do not often result in the death of one or the other as demons do find some value in the lives of their peers. Ironic, isn’t it?_

_In the cases where a fight ends in the murder of an opponent, the victor experiences a rush of similar to the human endorphin and finds themselves in the clutches of a very powerful want for blood and violence. It is too powerful for most demons to control and almost every case of Bloodlust results in intervention from Hell’s superior officers and if the offending demon cannot be controlled they will be destroyed._

_The only way for a demon to overcome Bloodlust is to refrain from further violence for a period that I have identified as being approximately 2-3 days. This varies from case to case, some can recover quicker than others, but in every recorded case the process is painful and most undignified._

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale closed the book and leaned his elbow on the desk. All he had to do was make sure that Crowley didn’t get into any more fights or attack anyone for a couple of days and he would be restored to his normal self. That sounded doable.

A thump sounded from the floor above and Aziraphale threw himself up the stairs, ‘Crowley?’ he cried, finding the demon in a ball on the carpet.

His wound was still bandaged, the blood not leaking through, but his face conveyed such extreme pain that the angel could almost feel a pang of agony himself. Veins were popping out of Crowley’s neck, the muscles in his chest strained and tight as he scratched and clawed at the ground. Sweat coated his pale flesh, gleaming beneath the dim orange light on the ceiling and his eyes were wide, gleaming yellow with a wide pupil.

Aziraphale flattened himself against the wall, stunned into silence for a moment by the desperation of his friend’s condition.

‘It’s too bright!’ Crowley shrieked, ‘It’s too bright it’s burning!’

‘What is? Is it me? Am I glowing again? I’m sorry its all this heavenly light, you know? It’s hard to turn on and—’

‘The light, angel!’ he barked, ‘On the wall, turn it off!’

Aziraphale’s eyes moved to the light switch on the wall and he quickly flicked it off. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief and rolled onto his back, his stomach rising and falling fast like frightened mouse.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly.

‘Like Hell,’ Crowley said, ignoring the irony.

Aziraphale moved closer and Crowley cried out, rolling away, ‘Don’t!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Aziraphale backed off again, holding his hands up in innocence, ‘I’m sorry,’

Crowley balled his hand into a fist and thumped it against the carpet, groaning through clenched teeth, ‘I can’t risk you getting close. It hurts not to kill you, Aziraphale, and that scares me so please just—’

‘Alright,’ the angel nodded and stepped back further towards the door, ‘I’ll go, but I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.’

Crowley put his head back against the carpet and panted before there was a knock at the front door and his head jerked up again.

‘Oi!’ a man shouted from outside, banging his fist on the door, ‘What’s with all the noise?’

Aziraphale and Crowley’s eyes met in panic which soon turned, in Crowley’s case, to wicked excitement.

‘Now, you just wait here,’ Aziraphale pointed a finger at the demon who rose easily to his feet, ‘and let me see to this.’ He quickly left the room and shut the door behind him, miracling a few dozen closed bolts onto it in the hopes of keeping the demon trapped inside.

Aziraphale practically flew back down the stairs, his legs moving faster than he was comfortable with and causing to almost tumble to the floor. He unlocked the front door and swung it open quickly.

A red faced man with a grey moustache and a brown dressing gown stood in front of him, fist raised to knock on the door again, and furrowed his thick brows, ‘Do you have any idea what time it is? I’ve got to be in Oxford for 6 tomorrow and all I can hear is your bloody racket! What’s with all the screaming? You got a mental patient in there, or something?’

‘Now, sir, I will refrain from explaning why you shouldn’t refer to someone in need as a quote _mental patient_ , and just ask you very kindly to please go back about your business and leave me in peace.’

‘You what?’ the man growled.

Crowley punched through the door.

‘Please,’ Aziraphale begged the man, ‘It is very important that you leave right now or—’

‘You can’t talk to me like that you little—’

‘It’s for your own good!’

The bedroom door split in two.

‘I will not be treated like this. I’m the Chief Operating Officer for—’

‘I don’t care,’ Aziraphale pushed the door, but the man’s foot was in the way, ‘Please just go!’

‘I will not! I’ll teach you to order me about, you little—’

He choked on Crowley’s hand which he had punched through his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes;  
> 1) This is going to take me a little more time than the others to complete, so please bear with me if you enjoyed what's posted so far and want to see the rest. It will come!  
> 2) I've made a roleplay forum on fanfiction.net if anyone would be interested in playing around with the characters with me https://www.fanfiction.net/forum/Good-Omens-RP/221333/


End file.
